Wretch
by NightMary
Summary: Years before Layla Wilde ever came into the desert, a boy, with the help of another outcast, forged an unexpected friendship. Out of his every problem, the one that could possibly stand between them was the one thing that he never had- a voice.
1. Chapter 1

**_Warning- contains deragatory language, bad language, gratuitous violence, and other stuff, probably. Don't read if you have a tender heart and are easily offended. It should also be noted that anything any of the characters say or do that could be interpeted as offensive by no way or means shows any of my views. Trust me, I'm a proud feminist, a person who would bleed for the rights of animals, a vehement believer in equality for everyone, and a person who is a shameless tree-hugger. Please, I'm as liberal as you can get and still go around cursing like a mother-fuckin' sailor._**

**_I also own nothing someone else really does. Okay?_**

**Author's Note:** Okay, I haven't been around much lately. Okay, not at all.

Anyway, as you can see, I'm back- and with what could be a considered, if this was a tv show, a 'mini-series' revolving around one of my most favorite and multi-dimensional characters that I've ever created- Roach.

For those of you who have never read "People of The Scorion", you probably have no idea who the hell I'm babbling about. Well, have no fear- if there's anything crucial that was originally in POTS (Or WILL be, eventually) I will include it. There is no need to read POTS to understand it- but I highly recommend it.

Okay, here's the short list of things you should know in order to understand this paticular story:

- First off, this is set in the Test Village- the home of one of the desert "Drifter" clans. Don't worry, it's the same town set in The Hills Have Eyes, so chill.

- Second, Roach and almost all of the mutants in this multi-chaptered story are ones of my own creation, almost all actually mentioned or are main characters in POTS. If you like the main characters in this story, may I kindly suggest reading POTS to get more storyline for the main characters?

- Third, (a LITTLE bit of a SPOILER for POTS) I should mention that each mutant (in theory) has about three names: their "orginal" one (normal ones, like Billy, Kendra, and Sally), their, erm... second one (shut up, I haven't thought up a catchy name yet!) is the one that'd be more used around friends and family (Roach, Marvel, ect.), and, if they earned it, a more formal one that's either one that carries a regality to it, or one that is the name of a god/goddess. Whew, that was harder than I thought to describe!

Anyway, here's the (extremely short) first chapter... Okay, you can stop reading now... Seriously, GO AWAY already! Geez!

...You're still there, aren't you?

...God-damn it...

-- **_Mad Red Queen_**

* * *

**Wretch**

From the time I was a toddler I have always been struggling to find my voice.

Sometimes, when I was small enough to crawl into one of my mother's cupboards, I would toddle up to my mother, my mouth wide- and the only sound I could make was a weird one that did not sound so unlike the noise a coyote makes before it dies. My mother would just tap me on my head and give me an unhindered look at the sadness in her eyes as she looked down at me. Sometimes, it seemed like she knew what I could see in her eyes, and she went as far as to manage a smile. She did what she could back then, I suppose.

After all, she knew that I probably was never going to be able to form a sentence in my entire life. I was born, after all, as mute as one could get. A tongueless one.

Despite being unable to talk to my parents- and the fact that the other kids shunned me entirely- I had a pretty okay childhood, as far as life out here could be.

I had no friends, there was basically nothing to do all of the time, and because my mother and father, who's shared mother and father had never taught them how to read or write, I had no way to talk to them. But, nothing out here tends to last long, with the exception of the heat.

The damn _heat._

My mother and I were close for what felt like my entire childhood. I used to help her around the house, carry things for her- things like that. And she used to call me her little bug every night when she would tuck me in.

The closeness my mother and me shared ended, however, when I turned thirteen. During the age of thirteen, (as all of us know) boys are put out into boot camp, and eventually discover what their main proficiency is. It's every man's gift to our clan, as Nefertiti and some of the older ones would say, to learn how to fight, to shoot from tall peaks of rock, and to learn the intricacies of tracking, trapping, and killing. Usually, training can last for an entire lifetime.

As for me, I went to training for almost an entire week.

I can remember saying bye to mom when Kaiser (The drifter who, until he died a year later, was in charge of the Boy's House) came to our house for me.

I can remember how it felt to step out onto our stoop that morning years ago, and the way that the wind was blowing hot sand through the village, making me squint. It was pre-morning- usually the time of day when I would climb from my room's window and onto the roof of our house to watch the colors spreading out over the horizon.

I stared up at the sky for only a few moments before I was interrupted by Kaiser, who had more than likely seen me staring up at the sky as I so often tend to do. He told me to get my head out of my ass, then he lead me to the Boy's House, where I was supposed to stay for at least five months until my place in the clan could be decided.

The Boy's House was smelly- even worse than I had imagined as I walked through the all boy's exclusive house.

The wood floor that covered the entire two-story was a mess of deep, gouged scars and scuffs, the walls had actual holes either punched or shot through in almost every room in the rather large house, and things were thrown all over the floor, ranging all the way from broken baby dolls to old bullet casings. And the boys I was to share home and hearth with for, perhaps, months on end seemed to compliment this house.

Kaiser lead me upstairs past the stairs whose railings had probably long since been broken off by teenager boys, and into a furniture-bare room, which was littered with rumpled blankets where the boys all slept, wrappers from what few treats they were allowed from the Gas Haven, and clothes so filthy I could barely recognize what their original colors were. He told me that I'd be sleeping there with the other boys.--


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** I believe that there's only one thing I need to explain here, and that is that Nefertiti is the name of the Matriarch for their civilization- at least, in the Test Village.

If anybody has any further questions, just P.M me- and if I get enough of the same question, I'll add it into this chapter's author note.

* * *

Despite the fact that I usually stayed inside of my mother's house most of my life, I had met most of the boys I roomed with that first night before.

The house was under Kaiser's rule more than Nefertiti's, which usually meant rough housing and daily shows of "My dick's bigger'n yours- wanna fight 'bout it"? were pretty much the usual activity. The place was one of the few places where Nefertiti let up her usual no fighting amongst yourselves golden rule, and where it was actually encouraged. The house was, after all, meant to weed out the ones meant for shooting/detaining prey of all sorts, the ones meant for scouting.

If the boys had never met me before I came, I might not have had any problems while staying there. But, they did know me, and instead of being able to act silent and withdrawn, I was automatically demoted to target practice. --

"'ey, doan bother tyin' that 'round 'is mouth." the boy with a limp and an empty left eye socket said. He happened to be the one who had tightened his hands around my wrists to hold me up. "'e's a fuckin' mute, 'member?"

The other boys seemed to laugh in the same horrible way all at once.

The boy in front of me who grinned, showing yellowed teeth. I knew the blow was coming as he curled his fist up, bu it did not help in diminishing the pain as it smashed into my stomach. I didn't exactly scream, but I made a bellowing noise and collapsed back against Redding, the boy who was clamping my hands like bindings.

Well, it wasn't the first or certainly the last time they would do it, but I swear that that was the one time in which they all seemed as though they were at the peak of their cruel happiness.

"We got 'im now," A boy who was watching said, sneering. When I turned slightly to look at him from how I was slumped backwards against Redding, I was mesmerized at the shiny, beetle-like quality his dark eyes held. It was an ugly gleam, one of pure bestial cruelty- like that of a snake about to strike out at a mouse.

I had began bellowing again as soon as I felt the second blow connect to my stomach, and any control I had over my legs failed me as I felt everything that had been liquid or semi-liquid come out of my spasming throat. I opened my eyes as I felt the hot contents of my stomach pour out of my mouth.

I was grateful, despite the tears in my eyes, that I was hunched over on the floor and not still being held and being forced to throw up all over one of my few semi-clean shirts. After all, the boys did tend to have a nasty habit of loving to watch me struggle, then embarrassing myself either by pissing myself, puking, or just weeping. And they probably would have normally gotten a kick out of seeing me throw up all over myself.

So why had they been merciful, and let me sink to the ground?

It was the voice of sanity- or, at least, the voice an adult.

"What th' fuck are you boys _doin'?!" _


	3. Chapter 3

I lifted my head up to look in the direction of the doorway.

Standing in the doorway was a mutant I had seen only a few times before. His skin was a very dark tint that reminded me of the color of dark, dark wood- the kind my real home had for floors upstairs. His eyes were light bright orange marbles that seemed to glow from the two hollowed pits of his eye sockets, and he looked as though he had strength enough in his huge bulk to bowl over a pickup truck- if he had reason enough in the first place to want to pick it up in the first place.

The other boys were shocked by his entrance. All of them seemed unable to speak. Even when Redding , who was the one who regained ability to speak first spoke, sounded shaky. "We're jus' rough housin'."

I had to stop myself from wanting to laugh at the idea of innocent rough housing being a part of what they had previously been doing to me. The man in the doorway seemed to get the same feeling that I did about what had really been going on, minus any dark humor that I had been feeling. "Your friend there sure doan look too happy wit' the rough housin'." he said, his almost glowing eyes turned directly on Redding.

One of the other boys (a boy who was very dumb) spoke up before probably any inner filter could kill off what he was thinking. "'e not my friend- 'e a no-talk 'ussy!"

The man in the doorway gave the boy who had spoken up a glowering look. "I doan know what th' fuck y' little pricks 'ave been doin', but I 'member that Nefer's biggest rule is not ta attack clans members."

His words seemed to weigh down the air in the room to an unbearable amount. It was shock, mostly; nobody- no adult, at least- had ever told any of the boys to not bully anybody else. Sure, the official rule was that you were not supposed to attack clans members- or ambush, beat up, humiliate, or threaten- but the rule of thumb had always a much different law entirely. As long as it never resulted in death or on-going fighting, "rough housing" of the one-sided variety was allowed. Hell, encouraged, if the truth was to be told.

Eventually, one of the boys behind me got up the courage to snort. "Trus' me, this fuck'r ain't worth the food he's fed."

The man turned to look at him. "Wass that?"

"You heard me."

When I turned around to face the boy who had been talking, I recognized the boy as Rocky- a boy who was just smart enough to know the ins and outs of bullying. He was obviously not frightened by the man, or if he was, he was good at hiding his fear of the possibility of being dragged into Nefertiti's house to be disciplined.

The man, on the other hand, looked as though he was beginning to show unease. "I doan know why y' all were hittin' that boy, but I think y' oughta stop, afore y'all find yerselves in alotta trouble."

The boy finally smiled that time. "I oughta? Y' jackass, iffin I were you, I'd keep my business as mine."

I had no idea what to expect then, but the man from the doorway running past the doorway and lunging at the boy who had been speaking was not it. The boy yelled in surprise, shielding his face as he was brought down to the ground with the man bent over him, hitting him over and over, blind to where he was hitting. All of his friends, who were so full of self-assurance, smirks, and snorts of cruel laughter before were staring down as their friend was getting what he had been giving or helping in giving for years.

The frenzy continued for a short flurry of blows and wild screaming before a voice boomed from the doorway.

"What the fuck 'r you doin', Agamemnon?!"

Agamemnon had his arm raised up, ready to hit Rocky yet another time, but he froze at the sound of the other man's voice. He stared past me, where the other man stood in the doorway.

"Kaiser," he said in a voice that was barely above a mumble. "I-"

"Ya what?" Kaiser snarled. "Ya sorry fer' beatin' th' shit outta a _kid?"_

"They were beatin' on..." Agamemnon turned his gaze away from Kaiser, looking at me in confusion. "...On that kid."

Kaiser was silent for a moment. "Ya mean Roach?" his voice was less than kind as he said my name. Near me, I heard the boys start to chuckle. They obviously knew what Kaiser was going to do; a good sized portion of the boys, after all, had been training at the Boys House for almost a year and everybody had a good idea of how Kaiser worked.

"Yeah. They were workin' 'im over real bad."

Kaiser turned his face down to mine, where I was still crouched down on the ground. He stared at me for a moment before he began snorting back laughter, a cruel smile on his lips. "Aggy, if you have to play favorites with one o' the kids, Roach's not the one to."

"Why isn't he?"

Kaiser paused, then started to really laugh. "Y' really do favor th' lil' shit, doan ya? God, jus' when I thought you couldn' go any lower."

The room was silent for a long, long moment before it was busting with the sounds of boys laughing, enjoying someone's humiliation- even if it was one of their elders and not one of their usual victims.

I turned my head up to Agamemnon's, and I realized then that he was like me. Maybe exactly _like_ me.

I realized it as I saw the transformation of his face as it went from mild anger, shame, and finally to a defeated, defensive look as he shut his eyes, turned his face down to the ground, and retracted into himself. It was the same look I got whenever I had been worked into a corner by the other boys. I wouldn't have been surprised if he had gotten it just as bad as I have always had it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Here's where we meet another character that those who've read my other story will recognize. Now, there will be some derogatory words used in this chapter. I'm just warning you now- if you're one of those people who like to bark at authors for letting characters talk like how a specific character would (yes, racism is included) then don't read. That simple.

Whoosh- with that problem (hopefully) cleared up, I'm off.

--**_Mad Red Queen_**

* * *

Even boys my age talked about him behind his back, he was such an oddity even among us, a village of abominations. He was first (and probably always had been, whether to his face or not) called a nigger for his dark, strange skin that came not from his family but from the radiation, causing him to look as though he had been born into the world after being dyed in an inkwell, and second called a faggot for his long-ago, now famous confession to Nefertiti when asked why he didn't want to find a female drifter to have a nice family with. I've heard that other men around him wondered why he never had a woman before- or had, at least, had a go with a softer piece of prey before that confession to Nefertiti.

Like every other person in the village (with the exception of a few other drifters who had seemed to know Agamemnon for a very long time) I didn't know what to make of Agamemnon other than he was different. And possibly dangerous in a very different way to me as well as to the other boys. My own problems with the other boys, I would later realize, came from similar feelings of distrust of anything really different from what they accepted as normal.

"Iffin' you wanna play favorites then, Tu-Tone," Kaiser said, being deliberate in how he used his much less formal name. "Then you can 'ave Roach there for yer own. You two 'r one o' a kind anyways- it'd only be fair for you ta raise 'im."

I kept my face turned down to the ground, eyes squeezed shut as I heard all of the boys and Kaiser laugh. I heard the noise of shoes and bare feet walking out of the room, the last person walking out shutting the door behind him after leaving the room. When I lifted my head up, I thought that I was alone in the room, so I sighed bitterly and pressed my fingers against the soreness on my stomach. I also considered leaving the house and just going back home, giving up on the idea of being anything better than one of the other drifters who were so fucked up that they couldn't even be allowed to wander outside of the village without someone watching them.

But, as I reaised up my head to look around the room, I realized that, sitting on one of the filthy-looking blankets that laid on the floor, was Agamemnon.

His eyes were turned downward, fixed on the floor. When he finally spoke, he sounded as weary as an old man. "I guess... I guess we should start soon." he looked up from the floor then, and gave me a smile as equally as weary and as fake as one of the mannequins. "After all, I ain't one o' the best fighters 'round fer no reason, am I?"

I paused for a moment, wondering what he meant before deciding to just nod my head, deciding to agree with whatever he meant if only to put the whole awkward moment away- despite believing then that I could not amount to any sort of fighter.

Agamemnon seemed to be happy with my reaction, giving me a smile that might have been genuine, rising to his feet. He looked down at himself for a moment, seeming busy with picking off things on his pants.

"So, Roach, huh?" he asked me in a half-interested voice. When I didn't answer him, he repeated his question in a louder voice, then looked up at me, looking, thankfully, empty of anger. "Is yer name Roach?" he asked in a louder voice, staring at me. I glanced away from him and nodded. When I looked back at him, I saw that he had a thoughtful expression on his face as he stared at me. I guessed then that he never knew me or had ever heard of me; after all, he surely would have known that I was unable to speak unless he hadn't.

What he said next nearly made me want to laugh then, hurt and bruised stomach or not. "You're a quiet one, I guess. So, are ya a quick bastard, or are ya stronger n' you look like?"

I suddenly found myself staring at him blankly, taking cruel pleasure in seeing him stare back at me, waiting for an answer. He continued to stare for a long, long moment before he coughed nervously into his fist and looked away for a moment. I wondered, watching as he looked everywhere except at me, if he had ever been more uncomfortable in his entire life. Finally, annoyed, he glared at me and spoke in a harsh voice. "Look, I know what you kids all think o' me- hell, most o' the people my age doan like me- but whatever you may have heard is prob'ly wrong, prob'ly all dumb shit thought up by one o' th' other drifters my age 'cause they doan like me an' jus' wanna talk 'hind my back. Firs' o' all," he walked up to me then, his anger a bright, visible thing his his orange eyes. "I ain't any god-damn differn' than anyone else. Got it?"

I was surprised by his outburst. To me he looked as though he was reliving all sorts of hell that he had already gone through.

Feeling as though I had a painful pressure in my chest, I nodded at him. He seemed at least calmed by me nodding.

"Well..." he turned away from me to gaze at the wall he was facing for a moment, a thoughtful look o his face. "Iffin' you're up ta it, we can go out of the village for a while."


	5. Chapter 5

It had been what felt like a long while since he had pulled out an old cloth sack, filled it with handfuls of sand, rock, and pebbles, and he had told me to "Give it hell". It wasn't the hardest thing I ever had to do before, but I was hunched over, arms squeezing into my knees, fighting for breath when I was told that I was finished.

"Good job, good job!" Agamemnon yelled. He was running up to me from where he had stood watching me punch, kick, and drive myself into the old sack that was easily as a big as me when it had been filled all the way up. And boy, did it _hurt _to hit it, as packed with sand and rock as it was.

Agamemnon came over to me and patted me on the shoulder. When I raised my head up, after dragging my hands over my sweating face, I found that I was being smiled at. It floored me! The last time I had actually gotten a smile that was not from my mother had been ages ago- when I had brought Nefertiti something from Marvel. I can still remember just how much gum and old, old teeth had shown in that smile.

"You can stop fer t'day- I'd say ya beat th' shit outta that bag 'nough fer t'day." Agamemnon said, chuckling. "So I think it's time ter take th' rocks outta this ol' sack."

I start towards the sack again, about to begin dismantling the sackful of rocks and sand, but as I reach into the opened sack, a huge hand laid itself on my own.

"Go take a rest on th' ground- you did yer part fer t'day, so I can take care o' this."

I would have liked to have asked him why he was being so kind to me, but as was usual, I was crippled when it came to expressing my thoughts. As I was used to doing, I accepted his odd kindness with a slow nod before finding a place to sit down cross-legged on the sand.

When I had been fighting with the bag, hitting it as hard as I could in blind anger, I hadn't realized just how tired I had really been until I sank onto the sand and began watching as Agamemnon cleaned the sack out. After he was halfway through the sack, he started to talk to me, probably out of how awkward the situation felt with silence wedging us apart. "So, you must be a shy guy, huh?"

He had his back turned towards me, and, short of getting up and making certain that I was in a place where Agamemnon could see my facial expressions, I was royally screwed when it came to not wanting to make an ass out of myself to him. It was going to be inevitable that he would realize that I was mute.

Agamemnon threw a rock out of the sack, following with a big fist that was holding enough sand to probably fit in a pop can before turning around to look at me. He was giving me a curious stare from his brightly lit orange eyes, and I felt dread building in me as I felt certain that what he was going to ask me next would be something that would lead to the same end, whether or not he was a kind-hearted drifter or not. After all, as I had heard my father say plenty of times to my face and behind my back, what _good_ was a mute in our world? What could I do that could possibly be beneficial to the clan?

"There's some reason why y' aren't talkin' ta' me, i'n't there?" Agamemnon asked in a soft voice. I felt unable to keep staring at him, as ashamed as I was. He was being so kind to me, and god only knew what he was thinking about why it was that I never spoke. Did he think that I was one of the boys who secretly made fun of him behind his back? That I was a coward who, finally cornered by who he had been picking on, was literally unable to speak?

And my bad ideas seemed to have a few bits of truth in them. I actually saw his gaze turn from one of gentle curiosity and into one of anger. I felt guilt building up in me, and I bit at my bottom lip and nodded as hard as I could at him. Instantly, that look of growing rage I had seen in his eyes was doused, replaced by even greater confusion than before. "Wha? Y' really can't?" I nodded again. "Did those boys tell you not ta talk ta me or sumin'?" I shook my head, beginning to feel like that shaggy dog Lassie I had seen on some old TV show once when the electricity had been working back when I was a kid, unable to talk but still trying my hardest to tell somebody something important. Of course, what I wanted to say was of less importance than a kid falling down a well or a barnful of animals in danger of being burnt to crisps. "Well, could you talk iffin ya wanted ta?"

I was relieved, feeling that he was getting finally close to the truth, and I think that it showed through how hard I turned my head from side to side in furious revolutions. Agamemnon gave me a surprised look, obviously not expecting the reaction. It took him a few seconds, most of which he looked as though he was struggling to think of what to ask next, then spoke.

"Why can' you talk?"

With the truth now in touching distance, I began to feel excited. But, looking over at him, I began to struggle once more. How was I supposed to answer this time?

My whole life at that point had been an unending game of charades without the knowledge of how to read or write, and even after I would later learn the basics of how to both read and write, it was still normal for me to have to make motions in the air with my hands because of the number of people in town who were all in varying level of illiteracy.

After a moment's hesitation, I decided that the simplest way of telling- showing- what I needed to tell him was also the best way to do it. Slowly, I lifted my lips apart, stretching my jaws as wide as I could. I reached the small flap of flesh that could have, if not ruined by the radiation, grown into a real tongue up to the roof of my mouth as well as I could. At first, he didn't seem to understand why I had opened my mouth as far as I could. Then it seemed to click in his brain, for his own mouth fell open.


	6. Chapter 6

"You... don't have a tongue." he finally said, sounding more as though he was saying it to himself than to me.

Closing my mouth, I nodded.

"You... you don't have a tongue..." he murmured again, turning away to look up at the sky, which had darkened considerably with the setting of the sun.

I continued staring at Agamemnon, waiting for him to say the next thing, hoping that it wasn't, _wow, well, I can' do anythin' wit' you- you 's a _mute_- not much can be done wit' a mute. _I was, fortunately, going to be surprised.

"Ah well..." he murmured finally, giving me a small upturn of his lips. "I doan talk too much either. I guess that makes us even."

I don't know why I laughed- there was nothing really hilarious about what he had said- but I did, breathing in long, ragged breaths, only to let them loose as soon as it hit my lungs. My laughter, as usual, sounded nothing close to normal, sounding more like some crazed desert thing barking, cackling, and wheezing when death became a certainty to it through either a bullet, another animal, or a trap. And, also as usual, the person watching me laugh was visibly un-prepared to my strange laughter.

Agamemnon looked as startled as though I had just jumped up out of the sand beneath my feet and had started clawing at the air in front of me blindly. The sight of him staring wide-eyed at me sobered me enough to stop myself mid-laugh.--

"So, you were born like that?"

We were sitting together on a cliff that overlooked an empty expanse of desert, out legs dropping off of the high ledge, kicking every once in awhile. We had come there for the first time in what would later become a normal thing for us.

We had to climb through a steep path of loose rocks and pebbles to go up the plateau, and I had been more than worried. Agamemnon, probably sensing my fear, had yelled over his shoulder from ahead of me that he had been coming here all the time ever since he was a kid. He had only had small accidents, such as skidding down the worn walkway that was full of rocks, or having to make a quick escape once after a dangerous-looking snake jumped out at him. There had only been accidents such as those, he had assured me, three times in the probably fifteen years he had been coming up here.

It didn't comfort me- and I hadn't been worrying about snakes, coyotes, or other dangerous wild animals before he had told me; all I had thought about was falling, falling backwards, hitting the ground, and, and...

The climb for me was a nervous one, and I spent almost every free moment looking around as often as I could, looking first and foremost for a yellow-eyed beasty, then searching for conspicuous-looking rocks that could cause me to go careening off of the edge of a unstable rock if I grabbed onto it instead of on solid rock, or go flying into a dagger-sharp rock if I slipped. Somehow, I found that a fear of imminent death made the top of the plateau all the more wonderful, and the sight of the wide-extending skies above and the desert beneath us was easily one of the more beautiful things I had ever seen- whether or not I had seen the same or similar scene practically every day of my life.

When I scampered across the worn-flat surface of the rock, which was baking boiling hot in the sun, I took a moment to glance around at the flat piece of rock that Agamemnon saw as more important that the possibility of doom by poisoning or a straight drop down to the unforgiving bosom of mother earth. The rock was a strange collection of black, gray, and a red that reminded me of the rust I had seen on one of the old junk cars that served no purpose other than to house rats that were last resort meals for when food was worse than scarce. In some places, black and lighter shades of red seemed to swim together on the rock's surface, while in others it seemed to be an unending sea of red before dropping off into a burnt-out world of black. And it was as hot as anyone would expect a piece of sunbaked rock to feel to sit on. The surface of the top of the almost perfectly smooth top of the plateau stretched out quite a ways, looking more than big enough for a modest-sized house to fit- with room enough for a stoop, if one wanted one built off of the side of a plateau.

Just thinking about a death drop off of the side of the cliff caused my breath to run in and out of my chest and dried lips as though I had just run from the village and to the nearest strip of highway and back. I forced myself to shut my eyes, concentrating on calming the flow of ragged breaths. I was not, after all, afraid of heights- and I had no ideas of starting to grow a fear or two in me at all. My eyes were still shut when Agamemnon called out to me.

"Sit next ta me."

When I opened my eyes, I found him sitting on the cliff, looking down at the desert below. Feeling grateful that I had been wearing shoes that day, I walked across the hot flat surface before sitting down next to Agamemnon and throwing my legs over the ledge. I turned to look over at Agamemnon for a moment, expecting him to speak. He didn't.

I eventually gave up, turning my gaze to look over at the wide-stretching desert below us. Just as I turned my head to the land beneath and stretching out far before us, a harsh wind blew handfuls of gritty sand at us, making me wince and shut my eyes.

After the wind quieted down, I opened my eyes and continued to stare out at the huge, wide, barren land before us.


	7. Chapter 7

It's funny how much the desert that I've always lived in reminds me so much of the inside of a treasure chest.

I've always seen these wide expanses of desert sand, when the sun's bright path of heat hits it just right, like a sea of gold ever since I had heard of men who did things like sword fight, ride in giant car-like wooden things called ships on a vast expanse of water that was, supposedly, much bigger than our desert, (which I still don't believe, even though it was Marvel who told me it back when I was a tyke) and who did like we did- kill and hunt for treasure.

I still keep hoping that one day a huge wooden ship, like the one I had heard stories about, will come sailing through the hot sea of gold- and that they'll come _right up _to the Test Village while everyone is watching them, every last one of them struck dumb, then they'll beckon me aboard. It has yet to happen.

I don't know how long I sat there, letting my imagination run control of my brain, but I was so used to the silence between me and Agamemnon that him speaking jolted me out midway in a daydream. "We shoul' leave soon, I guess. I think they'll be startin' on dinner, an' we're a ways away from th' village."

I continued staring out at the desert, but I nodded, feeling his eyes on me. "...So I guess I oughta get ta th' point then." he sighed. "I guess than main thing I wanted you ta know is that you ain't gonna be in the boy's house for too much longer."

I shut my eyes for a moment and sighed. I know, I know, I felt like saying.

"Ah," Agamemnon said, smiling weakly. "I got the feelin' you could guess that by yerself. Kaiser's funny 'bout who he lets train in the boy's house. Hell, I wa'an't allowed ta..." He turned quiet then.

Surprised, I turn to look at him, and without meaning to, I let the question I had wanted to ask show all over my face. _You? YOU?_

Agamemnon smirked darkly. "Yeah. I had ta learn all I knows by myself. Like hell if ol' Apollo'd let me train, 'fraid me, the little ol' man lover, would turn all his boys into dress wearin', helpless, weak pansies." The name Apollo was an unfamiliar one to me for a moment, then I remembered that the now senile and mostly blind old man named Apollo had been the live-in leader of the boy's house before Kaiser had taken over. "So... I jus' wan' you ta know, you won't be the firs' to be thrown outta th' boy's house when it happens. An', you won't be alone, either. I'll help ya iffin ya need it ever."

For a second, I had a hard time believing what I was hearing. Nobody, aside from when someone wanted something from me, or my mother, had ever spoken so kindly to me. And my eyes fairly stung from held back tears- but they could have equally come from the fact that the wind had blown yet another stinging wave of sand into my face when I didn't have the foresight to shut my eyes as well as from the overpowering feeling of gratefulness I felt. After I blinked away the tears I turned to him, trying with all of my willpower to show the question I wanted to actually say aloud through my features. _Why?_

He gave me a small smile, reached over, and patted me on the shoulder. "Us outsiders gotta stick ta-gether. Right?" I didn't respond by nodding or smiling back, so he latched onto my shoulder and gave me a friendly jostle and a toothy smile. "Right?"

I answered him that time, nodding quickly, and, after a quick moment of decision, I slowly smiled at him.

He grinned an even wider smile then, stretching lips that looked most like thinly sliced pieces of jerky, and exposed the puffy-looking gums that surrounded each tooth. "Ah... an' speakin' of outsiders, I know someone you'd prob'ly like ta meet later." he paused. "If I can figure out where she is out here- prob'ly off starin' at the sky, as usual." he sighed, looking up at the sky himself, a faraway look on his face. "Ah, that Ruby."


	8. Chapter 8

As he stared up at the huge, never ending marble-blue sky, I felt my lips rub together. I realized just how thirsty I was, especially since I hadn't taken a drink out of the water case Agamemnon had carried around all afternoon. I continued staring at the old water-filled juice carton, thinking about how water- yes, even lukewarm- would feel on my dry lips, flowing down my rough, ragged throat, pooling in my stomach...

"Yah thirsty?"

I was jolted out of my imagination at the sound of his voice. As soon as I lifted my gaze to his own, he untied the worn strip of cut belt leather that he had used to tether the jug to his big, meaty hip and waved the water-filled carton at me, repeating his earlier question in much the same manner I could accurately. Wordlessly. I nodded at him vigorously, and was relieved when he beckoned me closer to him, unscrewing the cap before handing it to me.

It was just as warm as I had believed it was going to be, caused by either the boiling heat of midday as it was beginning to wind down into that moment of perfect equilibrium in terms of the day's heat, or Agamemnon's body heat that had, more likely than not, turned up high like an oven with the day's mix of physical work and the heat of the day without any shade. It was, however, just a relief to feel the carton as I held it in my hands, even before I lifted the lips of the carton to meet my own before I tipped it backwards to let it wash down past my chapped lips, sore gums, the flap of skin that sprouted off of the base of my mouth, and through my ragged, dry throat.

I groaned, dismayed, when Agamemnon dragged the carton away from me when I took a break to catch my breath in between gulping yet another mouthful of metallic tap water. "Hey, doan be forgettin' 'bout me!" I gasped, closing my eyes as I heard Agamemnon fastening the top back onto the carton, then affixed the carton back to his hip. I felt as though it was the first time I had ever had a drink of water.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw that Agamemnon had walked off so that he was standing directly over the small pathway we had used to scuttle up to the huge rock. I hadn't even heard him walking away from me.

"Come on, we can keep talkin' all the way ta the village." he turned away from me to grasp at the edge of the plateau, preparing to most likely swing onto the set of rocks we had scaled to get up there, but he froze, the muscles in his strained arm standing out like an electric cord that had been wrapped tightly around his biceps. He cocked his head slightly towards me, and I saw that he was still showing his good mood, his eyes bright. "i jus' want ta get somethin' straight, firs' offa the bat. No matter what they call me, I'm always gonna be what I've always been- Tu-Tone; so, uh, jus' doan call me Agamemnon, right... oh..." he paused for a moment, most likely realizing that I could not really call him much of anything at all. "...well, jus' think o' me as Tone more 'n Aga-what-the-fuck-ever. Right?"--

That was the first day among many in which I would find myself first in not only Tu-Tone's presence, then also around Ruby, who would also become a close friend. And I hadn't known it then, but the both of us were amazingly alike, and had some of the same experiences. The persecution both of us faced every day with the other drifters, our deep-felt loneliness, our desire to find someone to at least be able to feel as safe with when away from the others, and the obstacles we had to go through to be able to prove ourselves were things that I would later find that we had in common.

I would never have been able to talk to him- or anybody else at all- if not for him, either. Along with how he made me continue to train in fighting after I was thrown out of the boy's house to live with my parents again, he was the first one to, quite innocently and unknowingly at the time, ask me what I would think of learning to read and write. It wasn't until a few days later that I would be greeted at the top of our usual meeting place in the desert with Tu-Tone standing on top of the plateau, holding an armload of ratty old books, an old, miniature chalkboard, and a wide smile. Even though he, himself stunk worse than a carcass left out in the sun at reading and writing, he was certain that he could teach me as much as he knew, then let me either learn on my own or ask Nefertiti for more lessons.

When I met him, I did not just get a good friend- I also got a voice that was all my own. And, as it would turn out, I was more of a chatterbox than I or anybody else would have guessed.


End file.
